


Enemy Mine

by Jay_Wells



Series: The Odd Life of Alexander Hamilton [13]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Washington '96 Presidency, Gen, Jefferson is shy and human, The Dinner Table Compromise, Throwing Shade, is really drawn out, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander has a habit of trusting the wrong people, which bites him in the ass regularly. And this time it could cost him his job, and the nation's economy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Figure it Out

Alexander had never met Secretary Thomas Jefferson, strange under normal circumstances since they would’ve been working together for five months now. However, Jefferson had yet to actually _accept_ the job, and thus his duties were split between Alexander and Henry Knox, _except_ Knox took a paid leave to attend his daughter Lucy’s seventh birthday party. So Alexander was left in charge of all three offices. It was partly self-imposed -- _“Are you sure you can do this, Alex?” “Yes, sir, I can”_ \-- but he didn’t expect that Knox’s flight would be delayed a whole week and that Jefferson would still be puttering around in Virginia with whatever the hell he was doing.

He didn’t mind the work so much; it kept him busy and occupied his thoughts, which was nice. Things weren’t so loud when he was working. He loved his job.

But right now there was a little boy in Albany, one day away from celebrating his first birthday without his father. He knew AJ was too young to remember anything about his first birthday, but Alex had hoped to be there. He was still trying to get over Philip’s disappointed “oh” when he had to tell him that no, Papa would not be making it home for his piano recital. They were good kids, they understood he wasn’t abandoning them. Eliza, too, understood, but the little flash of resignation in her eyes every time he said “I’ll be home late, don’t wait up” killed him. Maybe he could have Angie come down early, spend some time with her. He knew she felt neglected, between Philip’s homework and piano lessons and boisterousness. It wasn’t like she had to wait for school to be out, either.

Every event he couldn’t make, the expressions on his children’s faces were frighteningly familiar. Old fears and anxieties he hadn’t felt since Philip was born rearose.

If it weren’t for Eliza, their very own Superwoman, he didn’t know how he’d manage the juggling of school, work, getting the kids ready every morning, feeding them, ferrying them from place to place and putting them to bed at night. He wondered how John did it all alone with Frances.

Alexander knew his children deserved so much more. He picked up his phone and dialed the Schuyler’s home phone. His mother-in-law picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Catherine, it’s Alexander. Do you think you could put Eliza on the phone?”

“Of course, just a minute.” He heard her muffled call of “Eliza, honey, your husband’s on the phone!” Then, cheerily, she said, “Here you go, dear.”

“Alex, did you need something?” Her voice was hopeful. He felt sick.

He tried to be cheerful. “Nah, Bets, just wanted to hear your voice.” He paused, the sick feeling worsening. “Actually, could you put AJ on the phone. I’m in meetings all day tomorrow.”

She sighed. “He’s sleeping right now. I was just in the middle of putting the kids to bed, and he’s been sick all day. The sniffles -- he’ll be fine.”

She didn’t deserve this, and neither did the kids. He was away so often, he and Eliza may as well be divorced. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.” She sounded so tired.

“Tell Philip and Angie I said goodnight,” he said. “And I love you, all of you.”

“Love you. Goodnight.” He hung up the phone.

His baby was sick, he was missing the kid’s first birthday, he was pretty sure Philip and Angie had forgotten what he looked like, Eliza sounded like she hadn’t slept in days. Fuck work.

He looked at his schedule for the next day. Three meetings to attend. One was with the French ambassador, but Genêt was a meddling shit, so he could wait until Friday. Alexander scribbled _reschedule_ onto a sticky note. Later he had to see a military contractor, asking for extra funding on a fighter jet, even though the original contract said he’d do it for about half a million less -- not Alex’s problem and his PA was very good at saying "no" in his stead. G _ive it to Oliver._ The last one was with Washington over whether to loan money out to Afghanistan to rebuild their country … the decision wasn’t due for another two weeks. And all of Jefferson’s and Knox’s paperwork could be handled by _their_ PAs. He decided to call Washington.

Washington picked up the phone, voice bleary. Alexander check the clock -- well past ten now. “Yes, Alexander?”

“Sir, I wanted to confirm that the country would not collapse without its Secretary of the Treasury for the day.”

“You woke me up for this?” Washington said in mock-annoyance. Alexander's stomach turned before he realized this was the case. “Go see your son, for God’s sake.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ll be back Friday.”

 

* * *

 

He got into his car and made a stop at Wal-Mart for a gift -- a board book about a rabbit running away from home -- and drove the six hours to Albany and arrived at five in the morning. He had a spare key, given to him by his mother-in-law, and quietly slipped into the house and into a spare room to sleep for the next three hours.

He overslept and woke up at nine to the smell of eggs and bacon. From the top of the stairs, he could hear his in-laws who'd all came for the week to celebrate AJ’s birthday. Angelica and her husband Barker had flown in from London. With his usual habit for big entrances, he walked casually into the dining room and sat in an empty seat near Eliza. “Betsey, my _much_ better half, could you pass the toast?”

Mechanically, she picked up the plate, not awake enough to register his presence. Everyone else in the room went silent. Eliza glanced up in confusion, and when she saw him, her eyes widened and she dropped the -- plastic, thank god -- plate, spilling toast all over the floor. Angie and Philip jumped out of their seats to run around the table. “Papa!”

When his son and daughter finished greeting him, Eliza switched seats with Peggy, whose laughter was just beginning to die, to sit closer to him. She hugged him tightly and he could smell her shampoo and remember just how much he missed her. “I thought you had meetings today?”

“I decided they could wait.” he muttered into her shoulder.

She smiled brightly and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Hey, you two,” Eliza's brother PJ warned. “This one’s just turning one. Hold your horses.”

Eliza laughed. “Oh, shut up.”

“When's the party?” he asked.

“Noon.” She leaned against him. Across the room, her oldest brother Brad gave him a thumbs-up. “It’s just going to be a small family gathering. Cake and ice cream.”

“Sounds great.”

 

They were sitting in the living room watching the children play, when Angelica’s son, Phil told Cathy and Angie that they couldn’t be knights.

“Why not? That’s stupid.” Cathy put her hands on her hips. “Joan of Arc was a knight, and _she_ was a girl.”

“Yeah!” Angie stomped her foot in agreement.

Phil shrugged. “That was one time, and she died because _girls can’t be knights._ ”

 _“Ki sa’w gen yen -- ou fou?”_ Philip shot, and Alexander nearly choked.

“Philip, don’t be rude, especially when he can’t even understand it.” He was trying really hard not to laugh and set a bad example.

Eliza leaned over and asked, “What’d he say?”

“Nothing too bad. He called him crazy” he explained.

“Oh.” she said.

Angelica, however, had had enough. “Philip Church, apologize to your sister and your cousins. Girls can be knights if they want, and besides, it’s make-believe, so it doesn’t matter if they were knights in real life, anyhow.” She sat back down and gave Alexander a pointed glare. “That’s all you had to say.”

AJ, who had been sitting on the floor quietly, got up and toddled over to his parents. “Cake?”

The other children all looked up in unison, though Phil and Cathy tried to be discreet about it.

“Sure, why not?” Eliza smiled. “It’s one o’clock.”

She got up and stretched her arms out. “Okay, kids, let’s march.”

Alexander snatched up AJ and carried him into the kitchen while Angie and Philip ran ahead of Eliza and his nephew and niece drifted in. The rest of the adults filed into the kitchen and crowded the back. Eliza lit a single candle and held it far enough out of the toddler’s reach that there was no danger of him grabbing at it and burning himself.

AJ was too little to try and formulate a wish, so he just leaned in and blew as hard as he could. The flame wavered, but didn’t go out, so Alexander discreetly blew. The candle went out, and everyone cheered, “Good job, AJ!”

He grinned and reached out to grab the cake.

“Oh, no.” Alexander pulled him back. “Wait, little man.”

He strapped his son into his highchair and kept him preoccupied while Eliza cut the cake and brought over small slice.

 

He had to leave around four o’clock, and to his regret, decided against taking Angie with him. He would be busy, and he couldn’t just leave her alone all day. So he kissed his wife and children goodbye and left.

When he got back to D.C., he got ready for bed and called his driver to let him know he needed him in the morning. He was uncomfortable with having a driver at all, but Washington insisted that he use his, at least while he was in D.C., for his own safety.

He got to the office early to make sure no damage was done while he was gone, and was surprised to find Washington waiting inside with his security detail and a tall man with big hair that Alexander had never seen before.

“Secretary Hamilton, you’re early.” Washington stood up and nodded his head. “I actually wasn’t expecting to see you here today. How are Eliza and the children?”

“Fine, sir.” He hated making small talk with the President, especially when so much needed to be done. “Eager to get down here, as soon as Philip finishes the year.”

“Good.” He gestured to the man next to him. “This is Secretary Jefferson. I was going to ask him to take care of any paperwork you had today, but I suppose that won’t be necessary now.” He turned to Jefferson. “Secretary Hamilton volunteered to oversee your department while we were awaiting your confirmation.”

Washington almost never spoke so formally. Alexander wondered what had him trying so hard to impress Jefferson. Or maybe he simply wasn’t trying to impress Alexander.

Jefferson held out a hand tentatively. “Hi. Um, thanks for your help.”

“Hamilton, see to it that he is thoroughly briefed on his duties as Secretary.” Washington smiled at both men and left the office.

Alexander took his hand and shook it vigorously. “Good to meet you, sir. Did everything get settled in Virginia?”

“Yes.” Jefferson’s eyes hadn’t lifted from his shoes and his voice was a near mumble.

Great. “I heard a lot about you from Jimmy. Did you really cut up a bible like that?”

“Makes more sense like that, for Jesus to be a philosopher.” Jefferson’s eyes flicked up briefly to meet his. “People have a way of making people into more than they are when they die. Powerful people -- druids, priests, kings -- are made into gods. I wish Jimmy hadn’t told you that. It’s something I like to keep private.”

His drawl, carefully concealed, slipped through on the last statement, as well as a tone of hurt. Perhaps Alexander shouldn’t have mentioned it.

“I’m not going to judge you for it.” He smiled at his new, painfully-shy coworker. “My family’s moving here in about two weeks. How about when they do, you can come over for dinner?” He winked. “Don’t bring up the bible, though. My wife might not think it’s funny.”

“That would be nice.” Jefferson brightened. “Now, what’d I miss?”

 

* * *

 

Eliza liked him, the kids adored him, and Alexander thought he could consider him a friend. Until he saw the headlines on the coffee shop news rack eight weeks later.

_Treasury Secretary Hamilton selling bonds under the table to New York investors_

_“I do what I have to do to survive,” says Hamilton_

_Behind closed doors: series of taxes passed against the poor_

_Hamilton sparks class warfare_

He grabbed copies of each, paid for them, and poured over them in the corner table, his coffee going cold next to him. They detailed his stimulus package and revised debt plan -- things not meant to go before Congress for another four weeks. The quotes were out of context, words spoken about his childhood and motivation, framed vaguely to look more sinister. Everything about taxes paid for foreign bank accounts, private planes and other taxes clearly aimed at the rich were cut out. His breathing quickened. The media couldn’t know, he’d kept everything down low, waiting until he knew all his bases were covered and no one could possibly misinterpret his words. A phrase repeated in each article stood out to him: _a source close to Hamilton._ Someone had told them; who had Alexander told? He ticked them off on his fingers: Washington, Eliza, John … His blood ran cold. Jefferson, he had talked to Jefferson over coffee about it last week.

 

At the next cabinet meeting, his plan was discussed. Jefferson smugly asked why the rich, who had earned their wealth, should pay for those who chose not to work.

“So you want to play both sides, huh?” Alexander seethed.

Washington, who currently wore the weary expression of one afflicted by existential exhaustion, started and shot him a warning look. Alexander paid no heed.

“You tell the papers about my plan, playing off the angle that I’m abusing the poor with taxes.” He spat the words at Jefferson, who responded with nothing more than a lifted eyebrow. “And now, you accuse me of coming down too hard on the rich? Pick a side!”

Secretary Wheatley stood up and tried to soothe him. “Alexander, please, calm down.”

“Phyllis, he is a dirty, two-faced liar.” He resisted her gentle attempts to push him back into his seat.

Jefferson looked entirely too pleased. “Secretary Hamilton, I’m not the one who leaked your plans to the press, and frankly your fit is unbecoming.”

“He’s right.” Washington added. “Let’s have a brief recess, then we’ll see about Secretary Wheatley’s new education plan. Secretary Hamilton, a word.”

Well, fuck.

The rest of the cabinet filed out except for the two of them.

Washington sighed. “Alex, I will not tolerate infighting or baseless accusations. You’re thirty-three. Act like it.”

“Sir, I told four people about my plan: You, John, Betsey and Jefferson. The papers said it was a source close to me. It had to be him.” Washington had to believe him.

“Can you try to get along?” Washington’s age showed in that moment. “For just once in your life, can you let it go?”

“If he leaves me alone, sir.” He wouldn’t draw first blood, but he _would_ defend himself.

Washington shook his head. “Son, I know you’re not corrupt. Anyone who cares about the truth knows it too. I am asking you to keep that in mind and not cause trouble.”

“If he leaves me alone, sir,” he repeated.  “We need this plan, sir.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. I _know._ You convinced me, now you need to convince everyone _else_ , son _._ ”

“Don’t call me son, sir.” Alexander crossed his arms. “I’m not your son, I’m your _employee_. And how am I supposed to convince anyone when they won’t listen to a word I say? Jefferson and his backers are the opposite party -- they’ll reject it by virtue of me asking. I don't understand why you chose people of different parties to make up your staff.”

“Just … figure it out.” He rubbed his forehead.

He nodded. “You see if I don’t, sir.”

 

After the meeting he waited for Jefferson, pacing up and down the hall, catching him on his way out the door.

“Jefferson!” And by “catching him,” he meant “bumping into him.”

Jefferson cursed quietly when he hit the ground and rose up slowly to his considerable height. “Hamilton, what was that? Did you need something?”

“Jefferson, I know you hate me, but I need your help.” He tried to control the anxious energy in his stomach. It seemed like a good plan five minutes ago; now, not so much. Maybe he should have run it by Eliza. He should back out now.

“Huh.” Jefferson examined him in a way that should’ve been intimidating, given his seven-inch advantage, but the flicker of anxiety in his eyes dissipated it.

He took a breath. “You let my shit leak, so you owe me anyway, but … Jefferson, if this plan isn’t approved, I stand to lose my job.” Oh, God, it sounded like begging, and he hated it. “I moved my family down here to take this position. I really can’t afford to go back to New York right now.”

“If you took the right cases, that wouldn’t be a problem.” He moved to push past him, but Alexander stepped in front of him.

“Look, you actually jeopardised my career. I need this plan to work.”

Jefferson slouched against the wall. “I’m _afraid_ that even if I wanted to help you, I can’t. I don’t follow finances; I keep to _my department_.”

 _I can tell you don’t follow finances, considering how deep you are in debt._ “But you know someone who can?”

“If I have the inclination to introduce you.” Jefferson waved a hand, as if trying to give off an air of mystery.

Unfortunately, Alexander had a very good idea as to who it was. If he were Jefferson, and he needed a good friend with influence over Alexander’s opposition -- i.e. the south -- who would he find?

“Do I know them?” He was resigned to his fate at this point.

“Maybe.” Jefferson shrugged his shoulder. The strange thing about the man was how gangly he was, like he had never quite grown out of his teen years, and it made him look skeletal when combined with his poor posture.

“Do they hate me?”

He smirked at that. “Oh, most likely.”

“It’s Madison.” Alexander sighed. “You know, it’s not cool to make my friends hate me.”

“You know, you should get better at telling when people are actually your friend, not just a coworker.”

“You’re an asshole.” Alexander mimed pulled a pistol from a holster and flipped him off.

“You may have mentioned it before.” He started walking down the hall, nodding for Alexander to follow. “But I’m one who may be able to help you.”


	2. What They Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton learns his enemies and coworkers aren't so different, and they come to an agreement on the debt plan.

James was doing paperwork at his desk and trying to keep his coughing discreet, lest he disrupted his secretary when Thomas entered the room, wearing an offensive checked button-up and brown corduroys. He could appreciate not going all out, but there was a distinct line between dressing low-key and dressing like a country boy attending his first Sadie Hawkins, and he was positive Thomas had leaped wholeheartedly over that line.

Perhaps the ridiculous outfit was meant to distract him from the half-nervous, half-apologetic expression or the fact that Alexander Hamilton could be seen through the blinds, wearing a forest green suit and matching tie. If that was the case, James was not fooled.

“What does Hamilton want, Thomas, and why are you asking for him?” he asked, not bothering to put his paperwork aside.

Thomas started a little. “He wants Congressional approval for his stimulus package and debt plan. _You_ can get him that. I know he’s obnoxious and presumptuous, but, _but_ maybe there’s something you want? Something you couldn’t get otherwise.”

“Tom, you’re vague-ass shit ain’t impressive.” James rubbed his temples. “You’re getting at him talking to Washington for us. You know that I want NAFTA, you want NAFTA, and you know I know you want NAFTA. You know that he has -- surprisingly -- not announced a position on NAFTA yet, but when he does, it won’t be favorable because he wants to protect American manufacturing; thus, you want him to agree to support NAFTA to Washington, who listens to him before he condemns it. Am I right?”

“Yes.” Thomas took a few long steps forward and leaned on his desk. “His stimulus package and debt plan aren’t too terrible if NAFTA works out -- no tariffs.”

“People will be pissed over this,” James warned. “Are you ready to back him and face the consequences … ” The apologetic look was back. “You aren’t backing him, are you?”

“Jim -- ”

“I see.” James snapped. “I am _not_ backing him, especially not alone. Tom, I will not risk my career for a man I don’t particularly like.” James rubbed his temples and sighed. “However, there are a few senators who might be persuaded to change their votes. They are small enough names that it wouldn’t be a huge deal to them.”

“So you’ll do it?” Thomas asked.

He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll negotiate. Conditions: it’s somewhere private, I get food and alcohol and _The Prospect_ doesn't get ahold of this. I know you have connections to the muckrakers, so keep them out of it.”

“You’ve got it,” Thomas grinned. “You think he’ll get his plan approved, even with a few extra votes?”

“No, if we play it right,” James assured with more confidence than he felt. Hamilton could get more swing votes than he anticipated, passing his plan and NAFTA might still fall through. Asking for a simple mention to the president about it guaranteed nothing, but if he never took a risk, then he could never gain anything. “But don’t tell Hamilton anything except that I’ll meet him.”

James had a feeling Hamilton would self-detonate sooner or later, and he had no intention of being hit with the shrapnel when it happened. He would not associate their names, in any way.

 

* * *

  


Alexander was surprised to see Burr walking his dog at the National Mall with a small girl about Philip’s age trailing behind him and clutching his hand.

“Burr, what brings you here?” He hailed them over with one hand. “And who is this?”

Burr puffed out his chest. “My daughter, Theo. She’s five years old.”

Theo clung to her father’s leg shyly and waved.

“Well, hey there, Theo.” Alexander kneeled down and smiled. “Your dress looks very pretty. Did you pick it out yourself?”

She ducked her head and pressed her lips to her teeth to avoid smiling back. “My Momma did.”

“She did a very good job.” He stretched back up to his full height, still standing a few inches below Burr. “How is Mrs. Burr?”

Burr proud grin broadened. “She’s fine. We decided to take a family trip down here, but she’s still a little tired, so I’m taking Theo for a walk while she rests. So, what’s up with your debt plan? It's been all over the news.”

“Oh, you know, just selling my soul to the Devil to get it passed. The usual politics bull.” He saw Madison’s intern coming across the Mall and waving to him. “In fact, I believe that’s my cue. See you later, Burr.”

Burr watched him go with an odd expression that may have been bemusement, but it passed and he continued walking with his daughter. “See ya, sellout.”

Alexander laughed and went along with the overworked intern to Jefferson’s D.C. residence. He was amazed at the sight of the city house despite himself. It was larger than any house he’d ever lived in, and it was only Jefferson’s secondary home. There was a small garden out front with lilies, tulips and poppies, decorated with tiny figurines of gnomes and fairies. Three stones rested under the flowers, each one with a name: _Lucy, Peter_ and _Jane._ It didn’t look professionally done, but he couldn’t imagine Jefferson sitting out in the sun and dirt planting, despite the man posing as a “simple farmer.” Owning a corporation of factory farms wasn’t the same thing as being a small farmer.

He passed the garden and knocked on the door. The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably when several minutes lapsed and no one had answered. Alexander knocked again, annoyed at Jefferson, who had insisted on his punctuality but apparently couldn’t be bothered to let him in. When the door swung open, however, the face greeting him was a teenage girl with curly hair tied up in a high ponytail she wiped her flour-covered hands off on her jeans, then winced at the white smears.

“Sorry, I took so long, sir. I was bakin’ cookies with Sally and Mary, and I didn’t even hear your knocking.” She held out a hand. “Marty Jefferson, sir.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Alexander Hamilton. Are you Thomas’s daughter?”

“Yes, Mr. Hamilton. Daddy’s going to be a little late coming home. Mr. Jim got sick on the way home. But if you sit right there on that bench, I’ll bring out some lemonade.”

Alexander sat down. The intern waved goodbye awkwardly and left. Marty emerged a few minutes later with two more girls, the smallest no more than ten. She introduced herself as Mary when she offered him a cookie, which he politely declined. He noticed that she wore a pendant with “Daddy’s little girl” engraved on it, and he was reminded of Angie. Sally was by far the shyest of the three, and a friend of Marty’s. She wore her hair in braids, and stood away from the rest of the group, watching Alexander warily.

Not long after, he heard a familiar voice shouting, “Martha Lynn Jefferson, _what_ have I told you about openin’ the door for strangers?”

Alexander turned around to see Jefferson running top-speed down the sidewalk in his ill-fitting work clothes and shouting in a southern drawl. It was almost comical if it wasn’t for the terror on his face, which forced him to imagine coming home to see Philip speaking to strangers on the front stoop of their apartment building.

Jefferson slowed slightly when he recognized Alexander and his face relaxed. He jogged to a stop in front again, and with his American everyman accent back in place, said, “Oh, Hamilton, it’s you.”

He turned to the girls. “Marty, we’ll have a talk later. For now, I want you to keep Mary away from the office. I have some very important business to attend to, but I promise we’ll do something together soon.” The last line was said in a pleading tone that Alexander recognized -- Jefferson was pleading for his children to understand how busy he was. He felt a pang of sympathy, especially when he remembered reading about Mrs. Jefferson in the news a few years back. She'd died from kidney failure.

Marty nodded. “O.K., Dad.”

Mary threw her arms around his legs. “I missed you, Daddy. Did you have a good day at work?”

“Yes, honey, but I’ve got one more thing to finish up, so you go upstairs and be good for your sister, understand?” When she nodded, he asked the third girl, “Sally, hon, do you need a ride home? I can drive you right after I finish this meeting.”

Sally shook her head and cast her eyes to the ground. “No, Mr. Jefferson. Mama wants me home by dinner, so I can take the bus.”

“You sure? It’s almost five, and it’ll take you at least an hour and a half to get home. Your Mama wouldn’t want you out so late.” Jefferson seemed hesitant.

Alexander jumped in. “I could call Betsey and ask her to drive her to the bus terminal. Sally, is there a bus stop near your house?”

“Yeah.” Sally brightened. “I could ask Mama to pick me up there if you’d let me use your phone, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

When the meeting started, it was well past five. Jefferson, much to Alexander’s annoyance, insisted on dinner first and chided any attempts to discuss business over a meal. Madison went along with it for a while but grew irritated when the chit-chat carried on too long.

“Tom, can we please get on with it? I promised Dolley I’d be home at a decent hour.” Madison set his fork and knife down and shoved his plate.

Jefferson scoffed. “Your generation just doesn’t understand Southern hospitality.”

“I’m from farther South than you, and we certainly didn't -- what’s the word? -- dilly-dally this much,” Alexander said. “Look, my son’s recital is at eight, and I promised him I’d be there, so let’s get on with this, please?”

“Very well.” Jefferson stood up and opened the door to his office. “Come on.”

The door closed behind them with a sort of finality.


End file.
